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> ~ A Baby's Hug ~ >
> We were the only family with children in the > restaurant. I sat > Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was > quietly sitting and > talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, > 'Hi.' He pounded > his fat baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes > were crinkled in > laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless > grin, as he wriggled and > giggled with merriment. >
>
>
> I looked around and saw the source of his > merriment. It was a > man whose pants were baggy with a zipper at > half-mast and his toes poked > out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his > hair was uncombed and > unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a > beard and his nose > was so varicose it looked like a road map. >
>
>
> We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure > he smelled. > His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists. 'Hi > there, baby; hi there, > big boy. I see ya, buster,' the man said to Erik. >
>
>
> My husband and I exchanged looks, 'What do we do?' >
>
>
> Erik continued to laugh and answer, 'Hi.' >
>
>
> Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us > and then at > the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with > my beautiful baby. > Our meal came and the man began shouting from across > the room, 'Do ya > patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he > knows peek- a-boo.' >
>
>
> Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was > obviously drunk. >
>
>
> My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in > silence; all except > for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for > the admiring > skid-row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his > cute comments. >
>
>
> We finally got through the meal and headed for the > door. My
> husband went to pay the check and told me to meet > him in the parking
> lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door. > 'Lord, just let me
> out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,' I > prayed. As I drew closer
> to the man, I turned my back trying to sidestep him > and avoid any air he
> might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my > arm, reaching with
> both arms in a baby's 'pick-me-up' position. Before > I could stop him,
> Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man. >
>
>
> Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young > baby consummated > their love and kinship. Erik in an act of total > trust, love, and > submission laid his tiny head upon the man's ragged > shoulder. The man's > eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his > lashes. His aged hands > full of grime, pain, and hard labor, cradled my > baby's bottom and > stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so > deeply for so short a > time. >
>
>
> I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled > Erik in his
> arms and his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. > He said in a firm
> commanding voice, 'You take care of this baby.' >
>
>
> Somehow I managed, 'I will,' from a throat that > contained a > stone. >
>
>
> He pried Erik from his chest, lovingly and > longingly, as though
> he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man > said, 'God bless you,
> ma'am, you've given me my Christmas gift.' >
>
>
> I said nothing more than a muttered thanks. With > Erik in my > arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering > why I was crying and > holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, 'My > God, my God, forgive > me.' >
>
>
> I had just witnessed Christ's love shown through > the innocence > of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no > judgment; a child who saw a > soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. I was > a Christian who was > blind, holding a child who was not. I felt it was > God asking, 'Are you > willing to share your son for a moment?' when He > shared His for all > eternity. >
>
>
> The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, > 'To enter the > Kingdom of God , we must become as little children.' >
>
>
> If this has blessed you, please bless others by > sending it on. > Sometimes, it takes a child to remind us of what is > really important. We > must always remember who we are, where we came from > and, most
> importantly, how we feel about others. The clothes > on your back or the > car that you drive or the house that you live in > does not define you at > all; it is how you treat your fellow man that > identifies who you are. >
>
>
> This one is a keeper. >
>
>
> 'It is better to be liked for the true you, than to > be loved for
> who people think you are......'

hits
Peachers

 

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